Failure
by The Smiling Shadow
Summary: He fails them all the time. They do so much for him, and promise him, and he still fails them. And in their greatest time of need, still Otto Octavius fails his beautiful arms.


Always Failing  
  
He thinks to himself how many times he has failed them. How many times he has failed. How many dreams that have faded into nothing. How many lives he's destroyed in his.  
  
How many times he has failed in their goal. How many times they have forgiven him, and he still fails them.  
  
He tries, he really, really tries, and yet it doesn't seem to be enough.  
  
They tell him they forgive him. They tell him it is okay.  
  
How could he fail them, when they had so much faith in him? He doesn't understand. They've tried so many times. Each time coming closer and closer. So close to the victory they promise each other. Dreaming about the feeling of such a thing as victory.  
  
He promises them he will win for them. And they promise him that they will win together.  
  
And he still fails them.  
  
Failure has only become a sharpening pain. Like a stab in the back. Like when they were first fused together.  
  
While the pain of the punches and kicks they endure only dulls.  
  
They've done it over and over again. They've fought so many times. The pain of fighting almost becoming nothing. The bruises he takes for them don't even hurt anymore. He forgets how many bruises he has. He forgets he has over twenty.  
  
But that's what happens when they fight Peter.  
  
He almost smiles. Peter was growing up so quickly, more and more skilled at punching him in the face. At least this way he could watch the brilliant but lazy boy grow up. Maybe become a scientist. Maybe follow in his footsteps. Yes, that'd be funny. He'll have to tell them that thought, he knows they'll laugh.  
  
But of course, they can't allow that to happen.  
  
Peter did this to them. Peter caused the accident, caused the pain. Peter gets in their way. Peter must be punished, and he refuses to be.  
  
They go to punish him. To go and kill him, give him the pain he caused them. Afterwards they dream of continuing their work in science, living in a beautiful home. They dream after everything is done they can live normal lives. Four tentacles and all.  
  
To live a life as Otto Octavious and his beautiful inventions, his arms. Not Dr. Octopus. Not the madman. He is not a madman. He is a scientist. And he needs his arms. They need him. To live with the name Otto, and not Octopus. He is not a villain, only a man trying to achieve a decent life, with Peter in the way.  
  
Of course, the dream of such a life seems to linger farther and farther away from them because of him. Because of his failures.  
  
His failures will keep them back. His failures will make them fall. Keep them from a life they truly deserve.  
  
They escape, together. They escape each and every prison, and every time he fails them, and they are thrown into another.  
  
Every time they are able to breath fresh air, he makes them fall again.  
  
This is his fault. It is always his fault. They do nothing to him, and yet he disappoints them, he fails them. And every time they find it in themselves to forgive him.  
  
He doesn't understand how he could fail so many times.  
  
Keeping them from so many dreams.  
  
It was his fault. All his fault.  
  
And here he is. Alone. His mind only to himself, and it is empty. He can't hear them anymore. He hopes they are safe.  
  
He doesn't like it when the government takes them away from him. When they tear them away from each other. When they separate the tentacles, the arms from him. He listens to their screams, their begs to be one with him again. Their pain from another failure. The pain he causes them.  
  
He closes his eyes.  
  
It hurts so much each time they are separated.  
  
People he hasn't hurt, hasn't done anything to hurt him. Surgeons he doesn't even know the names of, come with their blades. And they cut him. One long cut down the back. Down into his spine. And tearing away his beautiful arms.  
  
They have no right to tear them away from him.  
  
They have no right cutting him, and leaving scars.  
  
One long scar down his back, and it still burns. One long scar. Every time he fails, every time they are returned to a prison, they open up the scars again. And take away his arms all over again.  
  
Each time they scream for him to wake up, to save them.  
  
Each time he cries to see them not with him.  
  
And when he sits alone in his cell, too far away from his arms to hear them, to promise them, he feels as if a part of him has been taken away. As if he lost a piece of himself. He feels this way, because it is true.  
  
Alone in his mind, without the voices of his arms, he thinks of all the failures.  
  
Then his scars begin to burn, and a tear goes down his eye. Scars hurt so much.  
  
The scars won't stop hurting until they are one again, he and his beautiful arms. The beautiful, perfect arms, he made himself. Almost the only success he has ever had.  
  
Even their becoming one was a failure. An accident behalf on his miscalculation. A failure that came out wonderful. Even if it meant the death of his wife, the sacrifice of his wife. But she didn't truly love him. She didn't know him. His arms know him, his arms love him. His arms are him. His wife, a sacrifice he is willing to allow.  
  
His arms helped him in his time of grieving for her, but his arms opened his eyes. His arms showed him how far he and his wife truly were. Those happy memories with her, mean nothing now.  
  
The life he once had without his arms, mean nothing. A life without them is a dead life, a life he refuses to have.  
  
His arms don't manipulate him, they don't lie to him, or control him. They used to, but not anymore. They need each other, and they share his mind.  
  
That is why he can't fail them anymore. He needs them too much to fail them again. He can't fail his arms again. He promises they will punish Peter, and they will this time.  
  
Of course he said that the last time. And he failed the last time. Should have choked Peter while he had a chance. Shouldn't have stopped to take off the mask, and watch him die. Just kill him.  
  
Just kill him, don't fail.  
  
Of course he failed.  
  
He is a failure. He has failed them so many times. And yet they come back. Come to the failure, and say it is all right. Their words giving him false hope.  
  
He has failed again and again and again. And he is sorry. They forgive him.  
  
And that makes him smile.  
  
His beautiful tentacles. His beautiful arms. His only success. And such a beautiful success. Four arms, four tentacles, with minds of their own. Forgiving and caring arms. Always thinking about success, always thinking about helping.  
  
Beautiful arms. Precious arms.  
  
Always speaking to him in his head. Telling things he really needs to hear. Fighting with him when they punish Peter. Protecting him.  
  
Such perfect arms.  
  
So adaptable and intelligent.  
  
Perfect.  
  
He is sorry he has failed them so many times. But never again. He promises never again.  
  
And he smiles in his cell.  
  
"Otto!"  
  
He looks up.  
  
"Help us, Otto!"  
  
His arms, speaking to him in his head. And he runs to the bars of his cell, and look down the halls, wondering where they are. They scream to him, plead to him, like they always do when they are separated, when they are scared.  
  
"Where are you!?" He calls down the hall.  
  
But they don't answer.  
  
It is quiet until guards come for him, guns drawn.  
  
"Come with us." They tell him.  
  
"What did you do to them!?" He yells at them.  
  
"Come with us, now!"  
  
The three guards grab him.  
  
"Let go of me! Tell me what you did to them!" He pulls at them. "Tell me!"  
  
And then there is darkness. Another bruise on the back of his head. He is knocked unconscious.  
  
He awakes unable to move, watching the ceiling roll by. And he realizes he is strapped to a medical bed. He looks up at one of the people moving him.  
  
"What did you do to them?" He whispers.  
  
No one answers. And he is forced to watch the ceiling pass him by. Fears running through his head. What his fate will be. What his arms' fate will be.  
  
Then he hears them.  
  
"Otto!" They scream.  
  
"Otto help us!"  
  
"Help us!"  
  
"Otto!"  
  
His arms, call for him. And his eyes widen in fear.  
  
Then the ceiling stops, and they lift the bed so he can see.  
  
"No!" He yells.  
  
There is a pool of melted metal, boiling in heat. And his arms are strapped, just above the pool. They squirm in fear, and scream for mercy.  
  
"No, no, no, no, no!" He yells for them.  
  
"Otto!" They scream.  
  
Then a man comes to him.  
  
"We want you to see this. We've made the mistake of allowing these monsters to live, all for study of course. And somehow they always find their way back to you. We've made this mistake for the last time. We want you, Mr. Octavious to know this." The man says.  
  
And he knows what they're going to do to his arms. He screams in fear. He struggles with the straps. He pushing and pulls at the things that contain him.  
  
All he wants is his arms back.  
  
They're going to drop them in the melted metal. They're going to kill them.  
  
"Murders!" He yells. "You're all murders!"  
  
"No, Mr. Octavious, you are." The man yells.  
  
"No, no, no! Please no! They didn't do anything!"  
  
He built them perfectly. Strong and sturdy. But they couldn't survive such and intensity as this. They wouldn't live. And he realized a piece of him wouldn't live.  
  
"It was me! They didn't do anything! It was me!" He yells at the people about to do this.  
  
"Otto!" His arms scream.  
  
"Help us!"  
  
"Otto, we can't leave you!"  
  
"Otto we refuse to die here!"  
  
"Otto!"  
  
"Let them go! Let them go! Let them go! Please!" He begs everyone around him. "I'll get you out! I'll get you out!" He yells at his arms.  
  
Then he pulls at his restraints, he tries and tries. He knows he can break them, he knows he can save his arms. He needs to save his arms.  
  
"Drop it." The man commands.  
  
"Noooooo! Don't do it!" He yells.  
  
"Otto!" They all scream.  
  
Then they begin to fall. And he sees it all so slowly, each and every scream, as they try to save themselves. But they fall, and hit the melted metal, the lava.  
  
Then they scream, the loudest, sharpest scream Otto Octavious has ever heard, and he knows it will haunt his dreams.  
  
He still tries to break away, and run to them, to save them. And he is forced to watch them try and get away, and begin to melt, and die a slow death.  
  
He still tries to save them.  
  
And he fails them like he always does.  
  
"No! It was me! It was me! They didn't do anything! They didn't do anything!" Otto still yells.  
  
"Otto!" They yell one last time.  
  
He fails them, and he lost them.  
  
Then they stop thrashing, and disappear into the hot liquid. And Otto Octavious feels a part of himself die.  
  
He just stops, and stares at their death place. A piece of him is gone, and it will never come back. The dreams he had, they had, never to come true. A life they always wanted gone. A piece of him is dead, and he stops fighting. And his scars begin to burn again. He lowers his head, with tears coming.  
  
"I'm so sorry." Otto whispers.  
  
He tried so hard. And he still fails them. 


End file.
